Venom: Web of Shadows
by Doctor Neverdie
Summary: When Peter is kidnapped by HYDRA, he loses five months of his life with no idea of what happened in that time. Returning home, he is plagued by a dark side of him he didn't know existed, bloody memories, his growing depression and his failure to connect with his past life. As internal and external forces war over him, he realises that just maybe, his mind isn't his own...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Taken

Ever since he had woken up that morning, Peter had felt uneasy. It started out as a faint tingling at the nape of his neck, proceeding to become a dull throb by mid afternoon. He had searched relentlessly for the source of threat but found none. His Spidey sense had other ideas obviously, and continued to nag him throughout the day. His jumpy behaviour did not go unnoticed by his friends, teachers and even Flash.

"Hey Parker. Stay still, would ya? What, got a secret stash of weed in your backpack, loser?" He asked smugly, followed by a chorus of laughter from peers. Peter scowled at him, resisting the urge to slap off that stupid smirk from the jock's face.

"Leave him alone, Eugene." Gwen Stacy said firmly. Flash waved her off and continued to do whatever he was doing. The blonde haired girl turned to Peter. "Don't mind him."

"I don't," he replied. He liked Gwen. A lot. Not very much, but a lot. She suddenly laughed at something Betty had said and his heart skipped a beat. Okay, maybe a whole lot, Liz Allen style. Ned joked his priorities and chances were screwed. Peter thought so. Not. He and Gwen were currently on hiatus on their 'Not Romantic Relationship Not Platonic Friendship' thingy. They were somewhere in the middle of that, lots of grey areas in between. Like, they had gone on a total of five dates (none of which were addressed as such) not to get romantically attached, but simply to know more about each other.

Anyways, they were getting there, then maybe he could properly date her. But like Ned said, he had really screwed up priorities. Gwen's dad was the George Stacy, hero cop, NYPD captain. He doubted the man would like him very much. Moreover, her mom was Defense Attorney Anna Stacy, a tough as nails woman. Meeting Toomes had already traumatized him.

He didn't think he needed another overprotective dad breathing down his neck with the promise of murdering him. Unless Stacy was a psycho, he had no problem.

The 2:45 bell rang dismissively, signalling the end of the school day and taking Peter away from bad memories he'd rather forget. Peter stuffed his laptop in his brand new satchel and sighed. He had no patrol. He was grounded for like, forever, or until May and Tony changed their minds. Honestly, it was just a small stab wound, no big deal. He'd stitched it up pretty fine. Ned was sick. MJ in detention. No homework. This was the lamest day ever.

"Oh, um, hey Peter." It was Gwen. He realized they were the only ones left in the room.

"Hey."

"How've you been?"

"Fine. Better than fine. Aside from the fact I'm grounded indefinitely with a definite strict curfew, everything is dope."

"Oh." Gwen's face fell several miles. "I just thought we would, you know..." She lets the sentence trail off into silence.

"Are you asking me out, milady Gwendolyn?" Peter asked mischievously, hoping the answer was yes. As expected, Gwen turns a shade of red and she pursed her lips.

"You did say you have a curfew," she told him lightly.

"May wouldn't mind me brushing up my social skills. Besides, there's a new coffeeshop near MOMA which has totally mean latte. I'm going there anyways for an assignment. Do you wanna come? Black and white photos aren't boring, I promise."

Gwen let a ghost of a smile grace her lips. "So it's a date?" Peter held out his arm for her.

"You did ask." She laughed and took his arm.

Later, much much later, Peter would wonder if ignoring his screaming instincts or the feeling of eyes boring holes at the back of his skull while escorting Gwen home was really the best choice.

At the time, he had simply been in an euphoric state from the fact that he'd taken Gwen to a real date, they might've or might've not kissed for simply too long until an old guy walking his dog told them to get a room and he had had his motorbike for a grand total of three weeks without marking a dent on it or getting tickets for reckless driving. Or riding. Whatever. However, it was a known fact he had extremely bad luck. Of all places to be kidnapped, he didn't expect it to be in a fucking parking lot, or the fact that he was Peter Parker, not Spiderman when he was abducted.

Still didn't mean he didn't freak the fuck out when a dart almost hit him. His Spidey sense alerted him and he ducked, just before a dude came out of the car besides his Harley-Davidson. He gave the guy a solar plexus punch along with a knee to his stomach as he yelled in pain. Someone grabbed him from behind and he gave them a headbutt.

It looked like every car around him had a potential kidnapper. They surrounded him, armed with batons and guns. Peter quickly realized he was outnumbered, ten to one.

He put up his fists, readying for a fight. It seemed like these guys had been watching him for a while. And they also knew of his abilities. Because who the actual fuck sends two dozen people to kidnap a sixteen year old? His thoughts quickly turned to Gwen. Her sister lived here, and he'd dropped her off here. They knew about her too. His heart picked up a pace. Did they know about Spiderman too?

"Alright. Who's ready for their fresh dose of bodily harm?" He taunted them, ignoring his dangerously speeding heart and without preamble, they lunged at him. He took out the first five easily enough, dodging and parring their attracts before delivering nonfatal but powerful blows of his own. He might be enhanced, but murder wasn't a priority of his right now. He really had to thank Murdock and Rand for the self-defense lessons when he got out of this. If he got out this. There was a big if there, because these guys weren't easy on him.

Shots were fired, but he heard no sounds of bullets coming out of barrels. Silencers. Shit. And there were darts, not bullets. He dodged and parried another attack, a crack resonating as he broke someone's arm. Ouch. A punch caught his jaw unexpectedly and Peter staggered backwardly. Another punch was thrown but he caught the woman's hand and twisted her arm behind her back. She bent over and threw him off her and Peter landed expertly, using his leg to sweep her feet from under her.

She fell with an oomph and just as Peter was about to deliver a blow to her face to prevent her from getting up again, his heightened senses flashed a warning behind his eyes. It was too late. A dart had caught him in the nape of his neck.

The effect was instant. His vision blurred. His windpipe was getting blocked. He couldn't breathe. He clutched at his constricting throat, gasping for air. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his mouth going dry. "It's a new thing I've been developing. Enough to fell an elephant. I'm glad I didn't try to add a few milligrams to the tranquilizer." A voice, female, spoke flatly. It sounded so close, yet so far, echoing in the distance.

Peter couldn't move. His legs had turned to mush.

He felt lips on his ear, hot breath trailing down his neck. "You are a special one. You have a higher calling than this, Stark. And I will help you uncover it, unleash the beast that you've hidden for so long."

"Take him to the van," she commanded and hands lifted him unceremoniously.

The last thing Peter heard was the sound of 'Brandy, You're a Fine Girl' playing over the radio as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2: Missing

A/N: So, English isn't my native tongue and this is my first fic. I'm inexperienced and I appreciate flames but keep them moderate, okay? I've always been interested in the psychology involving Peter as he bonded with Venom. How it affected him, his family etc. So this is mainly a fic about that. Also, Theresa Parker is canon. Anyways, enjoy. R & R.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Mickey Mouse does.

Chapter Two: Missing

 **Tony**

Tony stirred his coffee. Three cubes of sugar was enough, he decided. Pepper would be horrified, but she was in California right now and couldn't parent him. So he could have as many sugar cubes as he damn well pleased. Avoiding as much eye contact as possible with the board members, he sipped the too sweet drink. The coffee scorched his tongue but he swallowed anyway. SI was doing great, breaking boundaries. He however, was not. If someone looked closely enough, they would see the bags under his eyes, the deepened wrinkle lines creasing on his forehead.

He wished nothing else but to return to his lab and whatever he was doing, but hey, products don't sell themselves. Pepper worked double time, but Tony was still the Chairman of a billion dollar conglomerate. And he hated it. Hated the fact that he was here having a chitchat with people he could care less about outside the boundaries of his profession, when his son is still missing. Hates the sight of the ginger snaps on the long mahogany table, because they remind him too much of how the kid used to eat them excessively.

When he's done with the meeting, he finds that he can't go back to the penthouse. Can't stand the sight of the colorful throw pillows Peter had chosen for Pepper's birthday, the black and white pictures hanging on the wall, the ones he'd taken for his photography class. Tony can't sleep in his bedroom because he'd have to pass Peter's and resist taking a peek in the dust filled room, wondering when he'd come back. He can't look at the windows without remembering how his son had tried to sneak in with a poorly hidden stab wound.

Can't stand in the kitchen without recalling how he'd yelled at him for being so irresponsible, even when the kid had apologized profusely. How he'd told him sorry didn't cut it. That had been the last time he'd seen him. He can't look at the garage the same way either, the Harley-Davidson is there. Happy had brought it in, wordlessly. The sweet sixteen birthday present given too late now just stood there, gathering dust.

The silence is unnerving, he thinks. No amount of tinkering rids him of his guilt, no amount of work banishes his pain. No amount of resources helps him in the search for Peter. Even Romanoff, with all her guile and wiles, ends up with a dead end. The same goes for Barnes, and Maria Hill, and even the revived Coulson. Peter has vanished off the face of the earth.

Some nights, Tony drinks, shamefully, because his kids would be so disappointed. Sometimes he sneaks in the boy's room, hoping all this is a bad dream and he'll catch a glimpse of curly brown hair beneath the Hawkeye comforters. But he finds nothing but desolation, and he curls himself on the bed, sobbing.

He realizes how much of a screw up dad he is when he can't find words to comfort Theresa, tell her that her big brother will come back eventually. Guilt threatens to consume him when he wakes up with a hangover, when she gives him a look that says she knows he's been drinking. Theresa is ten, not stupid. He ignores the fact that all she watches on TV now are shows involving human trafficking and crime. Or the most watched series on her YouTube account is Buzzfeed Unsolved. He ignores the fact that she quit ballet.

Dinner is quiet nowadays; Peter's nonstop chatter is absent. His seat remains vacant. Theresa's halfhearted answers about her day and Pepper's slow narrative about her meetings are the only conversations the three manage. Tony barely speaks, nodding at the right times and letting out barely audible sounds of agreement where necessary.

He knows how much of a crappy father he's being to Tessa, but he's afraid he'll fuck up, make promises he couldn't keep just as he did to Peter, promising to protect her when his own heart is of glass and is breaking. He still reads her The Hobbit, but with less enthusiasm. He still plays chess, but with less determination. He still cracks jokes, but barely smiles.

Tony decides he doesn't like lasagna anymore. He doesn't like pad Thai either, or Mario Kart. He doesn't like anything anymore, because a part of him, no; half of his universe, is missing.

 **May**

May calls seven police stations. She plans on hugging Peter tightly when he gets back, then grounding him till eighty.

No ma'am, the police say. Someone has to be missing for at least 72 hours for us to send a search team. She throws her phone against the wall. His suit's still in his room. None of his friends had seen him save for Gwen, who assures her that Peter had been gone from her place for quite a while.

The sun rises. He doesn't show up. She gets a call. His bike is still at Gwen's sister's. No signs of struggle. A broken phone by the Harley. A possible kidnapping. There are no witnesses. The police aren't that cooperative until Tony shows up, demanding where his son is.

The FBI are notified — a prominent member of New York's elite has lost his son.

Days pass. Peter is still gone. Denial dies out and May finds herself wailing for her baby, because she's got nobody else. Mary's rolling in her grave, she thinks. She only had one job. Get joint custody to ensure Peter lives a normal job. She feels lonely, like a ghost in a shell of a body. A part of her has been ripped out. Pain has become a constant now. The house feels empty. Too quiet. Sometimes, she opens his closet and hugs his clothes, searching for familiarity.

She cries for Peter, for Ben, for Mary and for little Theresa.

Firm resolution and sheer fucking will are all she has, and she holds on to them, tight.

She won't rest until he's found. So she gets to work. Her boy isn't dead. He's strong, and she'll bring him home, hell or high water.

 **Gwen**

Gwen cries on the end of the first week. Heavy, raw sobs. She clings to the jacket Peter had lent her when she got cold. It smells of mint and oil and hair shampoo and a pleasant cologne. She knows kids who've been missing more than five days have less chances of being found alive. She clings to the memory of them together, leaning against the railings, watching the New York skyline fade out from a lovely sunset to a bright night. She clings to their kiss, to his laugh, and everything in between.

She fares better in the second week, arming herself with determination and hope. She brings out her all in the search for him, raining down hard on facts she knew, endless possibilities and things she might have overlooked. The third weeks goes by, then the fourth, then the fifth. Hope has bled out. Sheer will was now a single flame in endless darkness. Bile is all she can taste now. Emptiness is all she can feel. Six dates, she counts. Six dates and three months of friendship, a spark of what was once a crush coming to fruition; all lost.

So Gwen cries again, for him, for her and what could've been.

Gwen decides she hates latte the moment her dad hands her one during a family outing. She drinks it anyway, a voice telling her that had been the last thing Peter had before vanishing. She hates pepperoni pizza too, flinching at the memory of him joking it was his parents' ship name.

Her wounds aren't healing, the pain remains and comes out time and time again. Her friend is missing. And there's nothing she can do to bring him back.

 **Ned**

Ned doesn't play with Legos anymore. His Elder Scrolls gameplay lays intact. One day. He'd skipped school one day. He finds out Peter's right. He has the devil's bad luck imprinted upon him from birth. Nobody goes through so much trouble and lives to tell about it. Except this time, maybe Peter wouldn't narrate anything, because dead boys tell no tales.

The thought keeps him up at night, imagining his best buddy's body lying in an unmarked grave. Ned cries himself to sleep. He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. The mantra is all that keeps him from falling apart. He goes to school, attends decathlon practice, goes home, again and again. He doesn't get used to that routine. He doesn't think he ever will. Peter's absence leaves a hole in his heart. He doesn't think it can be repaired.

Tony has no news. The police and FBI are clueless. The Avengers are stumped. Everyday, Ned goes home with a heavier heart, an empty feeling in his chest and hopelessness he has never felt before, even when he was seated for the dreaded regional tests.

So Ned learns that hoping is stupid. Peter might never come back. Spiderman is gone. But more importantly, his best friend's missing.

 **Flash**

Flash isn't heartless. He's a dick but not a total asshole. He doesn't hate Peter. Hate is a strong word. When Ned calls him if he's seen the guy, he scoffs. Yeah, Ned. He totally hangs out with me. Then Gwen calls. MJ calls. Cindy. Abe. Jason. The entire decathlon team. Tony fucking Stark. He gets worried. He calls Peter but no, he is currently unavailable, the operator says.

By the third day, he realises this is no game. Peter's gone. Denial becomes shock. Shock becomes guilt. He starts reevaluating all of his past choices. He realizes the only reason he dislikes Peter is because of pettiness. Because Peter misses so many classes and never drops out of honor roll. Because he makes so many excuses for so many mistakes, but gets a slight slap to the wrist when all is done for.

And then he finds out, Peter might be close to being a dropout, but isn't a jerk like him. He makes excuses, but works the hardest. He gets by easily, but has a seriously crippling guilt complex and zero preservation skills. Like that time he'd bought roses for each girl who hadn't gotten one during the past year's Valentine Day. Like when he stood up for Ned in fourth grade when an older boy had spilled his lunch.

He starts a blog. He volunteers. He tries to keep the team's hopes up. He throws himself into whatever has Peter's name on it. His guilt thickens as days go by, every mean word he'd said to the boy keeping him up at night. He still has that stupid teddy bear Peter gave him in second grade when his had been stolen. He later finds out it had been Peter's mom last gift to him before she died. Flash takes the stuffed toy from wherever he puts it and repairs the holes. Peter might be missing, yet it doesn't mean relics of his memories of him have to be put away.

It sits on his bedside desk, waiting for its owner to take it home.

 **New York**

The city seems silent now. No webslinger to crawl along walls, or swing around buildings. No Spidey to help little old ladies across the street. No defender to stand up for the little guy. Nobody to talk to hopeless men and women out of suicide. New York wonders where its greatest hero is. Why does nobody see him stop robberies, catch muggers and guide lost children to the loving arms of their parents. The city remains unaware that Spiderman is but a child himself, a child in desperate need of saving.

New York mourned for Spiderman.

A father mourned for his son.

One was a hero. Another was a child among hundreds of children who had disappeared without a trace.

Both were missing


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm sorry for not making May's inner turmoil befitting a grieving aunt. Forgive me for that. Reviews and flames are appreciated, but keep them moderate. Vaughn is nowhere near Wyoming. I'm sorry for inaccuracies that may pop up. Peter goes missing around June and shows up in early November, in case you're confused. R & R

Chapter 3: Lost and Found

Deputy Swann thought his day could not get more boring than it was. He was wrong. As respectable appointed officer of the law subjected to bring peace and order in Vaughn, Sublette County of Wyoming, he took his job very seriously. Even when drunk teenagers call the station at 3 in the morning. Whatever the case, he was obligated to do what officers do; respond.

So here he was, at Conrad Old Place, or specifically, the oldest house and ranch in town. If he had to guess, the stuck up grandson of the rather likeable Ellis Conrad threw another party while his grandfather was away. Was someone really dead this time? Did someone fall out of a window or get stuck in the basement? Instead, he was surprised to be greeted by Roy himself upon the first ring of the doorbell.

"Officer!" He slurred. Still drunk. "You might wanna see this shit!" The boy grabbed his arm and led him outside, dragging him towards the stables. A group of teenagers had already gathered near the doors. They made way as soon as they saw Swann.

"You called me for this?!" The officer questioned incredulously, fuming. On the ground hundreds, possibly thousands of spiders laid dead. All shapes and sizes. It wasn't the spookiest shit he'd ever seen. Not even top twenty. What did he have to do about spiders? Why did he even come here?

"No, silly!" Roy burped. "There's a body inside."

Swann's blood ran cold. His hand subconsciously touched his gun. Carefully proceeding forward, he slowly opened the stable doors. Spiders. Everywhere. They littered the floor, dead or barely moving. The twin bulbs hanging from the ceiling did little to banish the dropped temperature or the darkness. He sensed Roy behind him but didn't say anything. The horses neighed nervously, stamping hooves. "Get the stable hand!" He yelled over his shoulder, uncaring if anybody heard him or not. He switched on his flashlight.

Swann stopped dead.

There, in the corner, was something, or someone curled in a fetal position and covered from head to toe in white stuff. The arachnids had bundled up around the figure.

The thing started to move and in a flash the officer had his gun pointed, ready to fire. It wiggled, pushing against its silky prison until a pale hand came out, shiny in the thin slivers of light present.

"Is it an alien?!" Roy couldn't help but ask.

"I don't know!" Swann snapped. The figure in the web cocoon continued to move, groaning.

"It looks like a fucking mummy! What is it?" The boy yelled but he ignored him.

"Command centre, we got a situation here," Swann said to his radio.

" _Command center, what's your status_?" A flat female voice replied.

"Possible threatening sign of life here on 622 Maple Street, stables, southwest of house. Send dispatch."

" _Please hold threat while dispatch is making effort to reach your location. Dispatch team will arrive in five minutes, over._ " Another hand came out, then a shoulder, and then a foot. Long fingers grabbed at the webbing, tearing it apart to reveal a young male body in its physical peak, covered in an entity of clear oily liquid. It was like watching someone be born anew. And fucking creepy.

The kid—he couldn't be more than eighteen— uncurled himself and wiped off the fluid from his face. He keeled over, gasping and seemingly choking. Swann did not lower his gun. He was dressed in a thin white tee and white pants. A tag was tied around his wrist. He looked up to the two, wide brown eyes jumping from face to face. Adam's apple bobbing up and down in clear anxiety, he asked in a raspy voice, "Who are you people?"

He promptly fell back into unconsciousness. Swann kneeled by him despite his disgust of the dead spiders, shaking the boy's shoulder. Where the fuck was the dispatch team? "Kid? Kid!" He checked his pulse. Still breathing. The boy was breathing heavily, blue lips trembling as rivulets of blood traced their way down his nose and mouth. His frostbitten fingers tried to grab at Swann's coat and the deputy held the icy cold hand.

"You're going to be alright..."

"It's the missing kid." He heard Roy whisper behind him. "Officer, that's Peter Parker."

"After the takeover bid with Branstow is done, you have a meeting with Nobu Fujikawa on the eighteenth of December. The Stark-Asia merge with Xinjiang International will be done by early March. Mr. Almond from Alchemax has requested a private meeting. Shall I approve of the appointment? Mr. Stark?"

"Huh?" Tony turned to his PA. She was looking at him questioningly.

"Daniel Almond has requested—"

"Dakota, I'll take it from here." Pepper said to the younger woman who nodded and promptly evacuated from her seat to somewhere else in the lobby. Pepper sat herself down and sighed. "You could always go back home."

"You said the meeting with Pendleton was important."

"Not important enough to have the chairman attend."

"I'm going," Tony replied stubbornly. A pregnant silence filled the space between them. Pepper knew what her husband was doing. Dividing time between Theresa, Stark Industries and SHIELD related stuff so he could stop thinking about Peter. God. Five months. Why did it feel like ten years? She pretended to not notice the fact that he'd spiked his coffee with whiskey this morning. He was barely piss drunk these days, but whiskey and scotch were always present in his idea of breakfast and martinis were reserved for nightcaps.

She half wished Mary Stark would rise from the grave and tell her what secrets she'd used to stop Tony from looking at alcohol ever again. But the woman was dead. Maybe angry, if an afterlife existed. Peter was still missing.

Her phone rang and she swiped at thes screen. Unknown number. She answered anyway. When she was done, she looked at Tony, who had been observing a magazine. It took only one word to catch his interest.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Chapter three was rushed. I don't think it had chapter 2's depth. I'll try my best with four.

P.S Vaughn is supposed to be where Pinedale, WY is located.

Disclaimer: Mickey Mouse still owns Marvel.

Chapter 4: Fox on the Run

This is what he realizes: he's not in the Sunken Place anymore. Here, outside, it may be cold and brown and white and quiet, but its _outside_ and its the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Outside means no narrow hallways enclosing him, no artificial lights because he can see stars—they're dim but that's alright—no prodding hands because he's alone out here. So he takes a step forward, feels the fresh snow, and he runs. Runs like its his only purpose, like he's made of the wind, like his life depends upon it because it does.

He doesn't care that he doesn't remember who he is, all he knows is that that which he left behind is bad business and he doesn't turn back. Even when it gets too cold, when he feels his heart pounding in his ears and ready to explode, when his lungs threaten to collapse, he doesn't stop moving. Even when his legs hurt, when his bare feet go numb, he doesn't stop running. He runs. And runs. And runs. His breath is now coming out in shallow gasps. The river is far behind him. He is climbing, but it seems these hills and mounds don't stop stretching into the horizon. He cries silently. His throat is too raw to emit sounds.

He doesn't remember how and when he ended up here. Has it been weeks? Hours? Days? Why does it feel like all he's known is running? Someone is shaking his shoulder. Tells him he's gonna be alright. He doubts it. He knows he's dying. Can feel the beat of his heart slow down, his whole body go limp. Breathing is torture. He's tempted to stop, but he can't. Something's keeping him alive, pumping his heart for him. And so, he lives.

Later, his eyes are forcefully opened, bright light searching them. Someone's hovering above him, saying something he couldn't hear. Why couldn't he hear? It feels as if he's deep in water, breathing but suspended. Its bright but not painfully bright. The air smells pleasant and the voices in his head have stopped. " _Haloperidol_..." Someone is saying. Its a giantess with flames on her head for hair and shining emeralds for eyes. Her voice echoes and bounces, so its like she's speaking twice.

Then he's sinking again, a strong current sucking him further down the drain. Its not unpleasant, not like the Sunken Place. So he let's himself sink and for the first time in a very long time, sleeps.

 _I don't wanna know your name_

Someone's holding his hand. They whisper sweet nothings, stroking his hair.

 _You don't look the same_

Lips kiss his forehead lovingly, gently. Tearstained cheeks rest on his.

 _You were alright before_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," a voice brokenly tells him.

 _I don't wanna know your name_

"Please come back to me..."

He remembers long drives on sunny afternoons, picnics under a tree, walks on the beach. He remembers a curly haired woman chasing him, a man hoisting him on his shoulders. Camping nights under stary skies. Waves crashing against the shore, burning wood crackling and a hand lifting him up from down under. A blonde girl with her face against his, the two of them lying on green grass. A song playing over the radio.

"You're a fox on the run..." It takes him a while to realize the voice is his, raw with disuse, and that he's finally awake.

–Line Break–

A/N: My garbled version of Fox on the Run is why I'm apologizing for misusing the lyrics. Enjoy, R&R


	5. Awake

Chapter Five: Awake

The monitor continued to beep steadily. The room was simple enough but cramped, desperately designed to come off as akin to someone's bedroom but failing miserably. Pale blue sheets and curtains with imprints of green teddy bears. Tidy, pristine institutional floors with the overwhelming eggshell white walls and that unexplainable disturbing smell that is in every hospital. The window looked out on the hospital garden, where there really wasn't anything to see but leafless shrubs and trees.

The gadgets and equipment continued on with their buzzing and clicking, playing their own symphony of sounds. The television was on, playing a soap opera Tony forgot the name of, with no sound. He looked at his son. A pale figure swathed with blankets and attached to an IV, laying on the bed, as unresponsive as he'd been when he'd been brought in two days ago. They'd become off the oxygen mask a while ago. He looked so small, so young, so... unprotected. Tony swallowed. Someone knocked and entered before waiting for an answer.

It was Happy. He was holding a brown paper bag and a coffee. Upon seeing Tony's look of disapproval, he sighed. "You gotta eat, boss. We don't want the kid waking up and seeing you all meat and bones. You know he has a huge guilt complex."

Tony knew he was right. And he hated it. He hesitatingly accepted the coffee. He wrapped his hands around it, warmth seeping through his calloused skin. He swallowed again, more thickly this time, and stared at the motionless boy on the bed. The day the FBI agent had told him that there were almost zero chances where Peter could be found alive was one of the worst periods of his entire life. How to describe the grief of child-loss? Its losing your breath but somehow, your heart doesn't stop beating, it leaves a heartache that can never heal and could not be repaired by words.

Every day, no matter what he tried to do, he lost a little piece of his mind, he was breathing and dying at the same time. His grief had no side to push through, no way to escape. It was something to endure and live with, not a task where one could move on. He couldn't move on. Had that been a good thing?

"When he wakes up," the engineer started, "what should I say to him?"

Fuck, he was so useless. _Think, Tony, think_! His brain was screaming at him.

"You tell him you love him... And you missed him so much it hurts."

" _There! How hard could it be to think up of something like that? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of genius_?" His conscience mocked.

Except that those words weren't enough. Weren't enough for a child who had gone through God knows what. He'd seen the medical report. It had made him want to gag. Multiple lacerations, burns, abrasions, signs of malnutrition, excess drug consumption, collapsing lungs, a few broken bones, hypothermia... The doctors said he'd heal with time. Emotionally, Tony didn't think so. Would he even remember him?

"Drink the coffee," Happy urged and rose from the armchair. "I saw a vending machine in the corner. Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. Thank you, Harold." The man gave him a curt nod and exited the room as swiftly as he had entered.

Tony sat in relative silence, staring at the cooling dark liquid in his hands. Time had seemed nonexistent ever since Pepper got the call. Dakota had cancelled all his appointments. All that mattered to him were two words. Peter. Alive. And when he'd seen him for the first time in five months, he'd burst into tears shamelessly. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed. Uncomfortable but it would do.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered and kissed the clammy forehead, holding a small hand in his. "You've lost weight. They weren't feeding you well—were they? I suppose not. There's bags under your eyes. Your lips are chaffed too. The doctor said you'll be fine, though. Her name is Lee Wyatt."

The boy didn't respond. Tony wasn't expecting him to.

"You've —" his breath caught in his throat, "you've been on my mind ever since you went missing, Pete. God, I've missed you so much. So much. I missed your lame puns and those stupid tees. Those cheesy one liners and—" Tony realized he was crying now, and he rested his face against his son's.

"I even miss the disgusting sandwich you used to love. Kid, I love you so much. More than anything. I'm sorry for not searching harder. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His phone started ringing. He wiped his tears and angrily pressed 'ignore'. Nothing else was important.

"Please come back to me..." He laid his head in his free hand, releasing a shaking breath.

"You're a fox on the run..." The sentence was barely audible but Tony heard it. He snapped his head up. Peter was blearily staring at him.

 _-Line Break-_

The last nurse exited the room with the promise of finding Wyatt ASAP. It was just the two of them now. Tony, holding his son's hand, Peter focusing on their entwined fingers. His eyebrows were scrunched up in concentration, as if mulling over why his hand was being held so tightly. Tony loosened his grip.

"Where am I?" The boy's voice was dry.

"In the hospital, buddy." It took the engineer all his strength to stop himself from breaking down in tears there and then.

"The hospital," Peter murmured, his eyes roaming all over the room in confusion. He licked his lips. Just then Wyatt entered, all beaming smiles and bright eyes.

"Good morning Peter! I'm Doctor Wyatt." She walked around the bed and readjusted the IV. "How do you feel? You've been asleep for quite some time."

A beat of silence.

"My legs hurt."

"You-" Tony caught his breath, "You've been running for a long time."

Peter looked at him, wide brown orbs trying to make a sense of it all. Tony brushed a stray lock behind his son's ear.

"Why? Why was I running?"

"You were missing, Peter. Don't you remember?" Wyatt questioned softly.

Peter turned his gaze back to his father. "Who are you?"

And Tony's heart shattered into a million pieces.

A/N: First off, I'm SO VERY SORRY for not updating earlier. I'm not in a very good place right now. That plus writer's block. I DO know where this story is going, but all aspiring writers out there know what it's like to know the plot and lack words to express it. I promise I'll try harder. R&R. Flames are appreciated but keep them moderate.


	6. Chapter 6: Wind River

**Disclaimer: *sigh* Yes, Mickey still owns Marvel, that greedy mouse.**

Chapter Six: Wind River

Wyatt pushed her glasses up from her nose. Her sharp green eyes scrutinised him. Tony wondered how she could pull off being so nice and soft around her patients and being a literal T-Rex when people disagreed to hospital regulations. The brave soul attempting to do that being of course, him. But then again, he lived with Pepper.

"I understand why you would want to move him. But he's still unstable, you saw that. Moving him is too risky."

"I just want to get him the best medical help hcan get, preferably in New York." Tony countered and added as an afterthought, "No offense to you or your staff, of course."

"None taken," Wyatt said. "I hope we both don't regret this decision. By the way, there's somebody here to see you." She had stood up, hands in her coat's pockets.

"Oh?" said Tony in surprise. Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were practically the only ones who knew where he was.

"The Feds," the redheaded doctor clarified for him. "They want to ask you questions about Peter." Seeing the grimace on his face, she added, "No information was given out. We value our patients' privacy."

"I see," Tony expressed doubtfully. Wyatt eyed him again and promptly departed from the office with a "I'll let her come in."

The Feds. Peter had been on the FBI's missing persons list so it kinda made sense. That didn't mean the intense uneasiness he felt at the moment disappeared. Rather, it gathered in the pit of his stomach, waiting to roll out of him in waves. It grew worse as seconds ticked by. His mind couldn't help but wander back to Peter.

Wyatt had quickly marched him out of the room after he had relentlessly tried to make Peter recall even a little bit of who he was. Needless to say, his attempts had been futile. The boy had just looked confused by everything happening around him and was soon injected with a sedative. Didn't mean it had hurt less. What had they done to him?

He shifted his attention to Wyatt's cramped office. Overflowing cabinets, brochures and files heaped on the table, children's paintings on the wall. An old copy of _Medical Journal_ laid cracked open in front of him.

The door creaked open and a blonde head popped in. "May I come in?"

Tony recognized her almost immediately. The prominent cheekbones, baby blue eyes and sharp nose belonged to none other than Agent Sharon Carter. She didn't wait for an answer and invited herself in. Her dark blue windbreaker read FBI in golden font.

"Peggy Jr. How are you? When did you join the Feebs?" The two questions were fired rapidly without preamble.

"I didn't. Its a cover." She replied.

"For what? Law and Order?"

"Very funny." It was then that Tony noticed the file she was clutching to her side.

"Whadya got for me? I've got a kid to take care of, so stating your business right away should beneficial to both of us — saving time."

She plopped down on the seat beside him and sighed. "I'm sorry about your son. Really."

"Business first," Tony insisted. He didnt need pity. Peter would be fine. He and Sharon weren't close and he liked it to remain that way. After all, the woman once worked under Fury.

"I assume the cops told you on how they found Peter. Wounded, starving... With no idea of who he was. Or where he was."

"Seconds ticking by, Sharon..."

She gave him a disapproving glare. "SHIELD has been investigating a certain corporation called Transigen. You might've heard of it."

Tony nodded. "Biogenetics company. Proposed a deal a while back; turned it down."

"They have a research facility near Wind River. Fairly small, not a lot of people. Registered it under a different name, Pendleton. We found something rather odd in their business dealings — things get bought in bulk by who seem to be intermediaries of companies which have no business in the biogenetics industry. Money swindled out of profits, blind eye being turned to off the page business relations. Illegal scientific experimentations pushes under the rug."

"Sounds shady. What's all of this got to do with me?"

Sharon held in her breath. "Transigen is believed to be associated with Secret Empire."

"Also shady name, but I still don't know where this is going."

"Transigen is on of the few companies which supply medical drugs to enhanced individuals. Secret Empire is considered myth by other intelligence communities but we at SHIELD know better. It buys out several organizations and government branches, controlling them from within. Creating legitimate corporations as fronts to hide illicit activities. Transigen is one of those corporations. Secret Empire is a branch of HYDRA..."

The word HYDRA knocked the air out of him. Something affiliated with them was never good news. "Clarify a little more, please. I still don't get it."

"For years Transigen has been buying private info from hospitals, pharmacies, medical institutes. Everywhere. They make drugs specifically for the enhanced. They wanna know where it ends up." Sharon leaned in, looking at him carefully. "Tony, out of the hundreds of children that went missing this year in New York — more than half were enhanced. Pendleton is a HYDRA experimentation base."

-Line Break-

HYDRA. Experiment. Peter. HYDRA had found out about Peter's abilities and had kidnapped him for the sole purpose of using him to their own twisted ends. His stomach was in knots, a bitter taste forming in his mouth.

"We raided the facility under the FBI cover a day ago. It was abandoned. Every sample, every surveillance record, every file; all scrubbed clean. It was all done in a hurry though, so there's still a chance we might find something useful."

"I see," Tony put his head in his hands, trying to slow down his rapidly beating heart.

"It what's we found underground that's worse." Sharon said softly.

"There's worse? Didn't see that coming, huh?" The man's voice was bitter.

"Two dozen."

"What?"

"Two dozen children. All killed. Along with bodies of scientists and guards, if that makes you feel better."

Tony wanted to throw up. He imagined Peter bloody and dirty and laying on a cold floor, a bullet hole through his head, his eyes open...

"Peter... He's the only one who got out alive, unscratched."

"Unscratched?" Tony fumed. "He was tortured, for fuck's sake! He was out there alone, afraid, cold—"

"And forced to run dozens of miles until he got help. I know. He could've died but he made it. He's a fighter."

Tony pulled in a sharp breath. "I think we're done here, don't you think?" He stood to leave.

"I need to interrogate him."

The philanthropist laughed hollowly. "You're fucking kidding me."

Sharon's eyes didn't waver from staring at his own.

"Goodbye, Agent Carter."

"There are still parents out there, looking for their kids."

Tony turned to her so quickly he is surprised he don't get whiplash. " Sorry, but guilt tripping me isn't gonna make me change my decision. You aren't seeing Peter, period!"

"He is the only one who might know what happened out there. Children are still missing, children HYDRA won't hesitate to make weapons out of!" argued Sharon.

"He doesn't know that!" Tony bellowed in her face.

She flinched. He growled and haphazardly ran his hands through his hair, turning his back to her.

"I'm just trying to do my job."

"He doesn't know anything." Tony repeated. He then added quietly, "He doesn't even remember me."

He refused to look at her but nonetheless pictured the look of utter pity she was giving him at the moment. And he absolutely loathed it.

"I'm sorry."

The heavy, desperate silence was broken buy Sharon shuffling some papers. "We found a hint on what they were working on. Just a few papers so the theory is still that, a theory. They dubbed it Project WIND RIVER. Have a look at it and if Peter recalls anything, feel free to contact me."

She walked to the door and gave him a sideways glance. "Goodnight. I hope your son makes a full recovery."

The door clicked shut, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. He let tears fall free, for his kid and what he'd gone through, and mostly for not being there when he was needed the most. For every scream, every drop of blood that Peter had shed, every hurt. For every night when he looked up to a blank ceiling in despair. Tony cried, for what he couldn't prevent and the aftermath.

Far away, the Wind River was silent, the remnants of a scared boy wading through it completely forgotten. He hadn't been the only one since the day the water had flowed for the first time.

 **A/N: How was that? Sorry for not posting. Lot of things on my too small hands. I haven't read Secret Empire no do I intend to, bit I have a rough idea of what went on. This fic isn't canon compliant. Civil war never happened. The land around Wind River (to my knowledge) is under federal reserve so I doubt any corporations exist there. However, this is fanfic so yeah... Doesn't matter. Anyways, enjoy, R & R!**


	7. Chapter 7: Alive

**Disclaimer: Yes, I own Peter. That boi is mine. Just kidding. All characters belong to Marvel.**

Chapter 7: Alive

All he knows is that he can't breath. Something is on his chest, _crushing_ him. He begs for it to stop, but he has no mouth and cannot speak. He doesn't know why its dark, maybe his eyes have gone too. He tries to flail around, wave his arms but _he feels nothing_ because oh God, everything is gone... Consumed in an endless, black abyss. He's there yet he's not there, all at the same time. The _thing_ moves, slithering up his whole body inside out and hugging him so tightly he hears his bones creak in protest.

He falls and falls and when he stops, blinding white light robs him of consciousness but before he goes he hears a scream, a screech and then nothing.

Peter jolted awake, sweating. He drew in sharp, ragged breaths while his hands held the sheets tightly, knuckles deathly pale. Seeing that nothing was wrong—the curtains were closed, the lamp beside the horrendously colored armchair cast a dim but sufficient light for his enhanced eyesight and all was quiet—he fell back on the pillows and sighed. _Easy there, Peter. You're overreacting._

 _Peter_. His name was Peter.

His name was Peter and he was a student at Midtown Tech. He lived in New York. And this wasn't his bedroom.

The teen threw the sheets off of him and quietly lowered his feet to the floor. He felt the scratchy carpet and sighed. He was undeniably, in a hospital. He just wondered what kind of hospital was this quiet in New York. Maybe a private one? His dad always insisted— his dad. Where was he?

Slowly opening the door, he poked his head out and relieved there was nobody in the corridor, he set off. He didn't know where he was going, but he wanted to get out of that room. Something had urgently screamed at him this fact from the moment he'd woken up.

Halfway through his senseless wanderings, he tried to figure out an excuse as to why he, a patient, had departed from his room without a doctor's order or assistance. He was tired of sleeping? Thirsty? Hungry? _Any of those would work, if not at all_ , he thought. But he was hungry. Starving, actually. He better find some food. He was actually surprised he encountered nobody. Doctors ought to be walking around, right? Half tempted to believe this was an apocalypse and everybody had already been evacuated except him who had somehow, been forgotten by the staff, he desperately tried to find a clue as to where he currently was.

If he had been Ned, he would've been knee-deep in conspiracies right now. Ned. Ned was his friend. Of course he was his friend! His best! He furrowed his brows. Then why did his brain have a hard time picturing his face?

"Excuse me," a highly nasal voice called out in slight annoyance, "you aren't supposed to be out of your room."

Busted. Peter sharply turned to face the speaker. It was a short woman in light blue scrubs, hands placed on her waist and a deep scowl etched all over her face. Her black curly hair fell onto her broad forehead rather well. She looked up at him crossly.

"Oh. I was just hungry and thirsty, and I wanted to get some fresh air—"

She cut him off. "No excuses. You could've just dialled the nurse." She deftly took his wrist where a tag read, 'P. Parker. Room 67, Second Floor. Ward 5."

"Come on, now. You're down here on when you should be in bed—"

"Peter?"

"Dad?"

-Line Break-

The man who called him was dark-haired and brown eyed, wearing a hoodie which read 'AC/DC" and black jeans. His goatee had a salt-and-pepper color and he looked much, much older than the last time he'd seen him. Last time. When had that been again? Despite the uncertainty of that particular question, he knew who this was.

"Dad?" He replied.

"Peter!" In four short strides he was engulfed in a squeezing bear hug, a large hand carding through his hair while the other rubbed his back, much to the disapproval of the short nurse. But the action was comforting and the boy melted into it. God, how long? Why did he feel so starved of such affection?

His dad released him and took his face in his hands. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."

"A point I was trying to make," the nurse grumbled under her breath.

"I just... I wanted to get out of there. And find you."

His father's eyes were moist with unshed tears. He swept his hair from his forehead. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Short nurse cleared her throat. "He needs to get back to his room."

"And food?"

His dad nodded. "And food."

Minutes later, he was wolfing down his fourth sandwich in a row. Tony (that was his dad's name, Happy called him that) kept staring at him in either surprise, shock or disgust. He _was_ eating rather quickly. He slowed down and looked at the half eaten sandwich in distaste.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked in worry.

"Nothing," he mumbled. He didn't feel hungry anymore.

"Do you want another sandwich?"

He shook his head and pushed the tray away from him. "I'm full."

"The doctor said you'll feel nauseous after eating; your body isn't used to take such large quantities of food at the same time. So don't feel guilty, okay?"

"Sure," Peter said unconvincingly and looked around. The light curtain moved a little, making a rustling sound.

"So, where are we? It doesn't sound like New York."

Tony smiled. "Yeah. We're in Wyoming."

"Wyoming?" He was taken aback. "What are we doing in Wyoming? Was I visiting Ned's aunt? She's nice. Please don't tell me I got sick and threw up in her house! Or were we in that cabin we went to when I was ten?"

If anything, Tony thought, Peter's incessant ramblings hadn't disappeared. He seemed almost like the boy he knew five months ago—just taller, paler, skinnier... and alive. He repeated the word to himself. Peter was here. He was alright. He was breathing. He remembered him.

"No. You were very sick," he chose his words carefully, "but that doesn't matter now. You need to rest to fully recover. Then I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Peter blinked. "Okay."

Tony didn't need anyone to tell him his son saw right through the deflection. But because he was Peter, he didn't push the matter and politely backed out of the conversation. God, what had he done to deserve him?

Wyatt, in all her redheaded glory, saved both of them from the sudden silence. Tony was surprised she was still here. Working overtime, perhaps?

"Evening, Peter!" She greeted the kid cheerily. "I'm your doctor, Lee Wyatt. I don't think you remember me."

Peter pursed his lips. "No."

"You thought my head was on fire. You were experiencing some heavy hallucinations when you were brought in. How do your legs feel?"

He stretched them. "Fine."

"Are you experiencing pain anywhere else?" She prodded him carefully.

"My sides and chest hurt. Not a lot but..." The sentence trailed off.

"You had some broken ribs, so that's a given. Anywhere else?"

"No. I'm good. Just tired."

Wyatt stepped back from him. "You've made astounding progress, and in just a few days. Its a miracle, really. Astonishing," the last part was said quietly, as if she was speaking to herself. Tony uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

"What do you remember before waking up?"

Peter creased his forehead in concentration. Was it decathlon practice? Who was in the team again? His dad said he was sick. He doesn't remember that. Maybe an accident? He might've gotten stabbed on patrol. Patrol. What was that again? Pieces of memories flashed by but they were all mixed up in a weird salad. He couldn't recall his last birthday party. He knew he was sixteen, but his birthday... he didn't know when it was. He only knew Ned had black hair and liked Star Wars tees, but his face still didn't come to him as well as he hoped. His aunt was May and her cooking was... He didn't know. He had a sister. Tessa. With curly hair. And his mom. He couldnt—

"Mom," he blurted out and turned to Tony. "I can't remember her. I can't remember Mom's face. Why can't I—"

Wyatt shushed him, gently pushing him back on the bed. "Its okay. Its just a common side effect of amnesia. You'll remember in time, you hear?"

"Just relax, okay? Its okay." His dad was saying, casting a cold sideways glance to the doctor.

After a few minutes of both adults trying to reassure him, he pulled in a sharp breath. "Can I go to the bathroom, please?"

"Of course. On your left."

He nodded and quietly slipped out of bed. As the door clicked shut, he heard his father say in what he thought was supposed to be a quiet voice. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?" It was angry, laced with irritation.

"I needed to know how deep his amnesia is! That's my job, remember?" Wyatt responded.

"You did it without the knowledge that he could be triggered?! What kind of doctor does that?"

"Oh, excuse me!" She snapped furiously, "when did you get a medical degree?"

Silence. Then, the sound of fabric rustling. "He can hear us." His dad seemed to be holding Wyatt by the arm, leading her out of the room. So much for eavesdropping. Peter walked away from his position at the door and made his way to the mirror. His hair had become a faded brown color, skin pallid. There were bags under his eyes, his flesh seemed to hang on a gangly skeleton barely able to support itself. In a nutshell, he looked like absolute shit. He closed his eyes and tried to search the furthest depths of his mind for his mother's face. Anything. Nothing surfaced. It disturbed him. He was missing something and her face was part of it.

He was here, with ruptured memories and no recollection of how or why he was here. His dad was hiding something, the doctor didn't look like she was gonna share something with him anytime soon and he was far from home. _What happened_? He didn't know the answer but he knew that someone was unmistakably watching him right now. With terrifying clarity.

-Line Break-

The man in the van looked at the three story building in vague disinterest. He was far enough to not be suspected by patrolling policemen but close enough to spy on room 27 on the second floor. The curtain was closed. The light was still on. He couldn't see anything. But he could hear. So, it had worked. At least partially. It was alive and couldn't remember. One thing out of the way, then.

Regardless of this, he had still failed. Asset X63 was still alive. He had underestimated its precognitive abilities. And the fact that Stark was present did not help him. He might be enhanced but he was no match for Iron Man. He knew where to draw his lone. The engineer would defend it to the death. The Council would not be pleased. Except for the Madame. She would be relieved it is still alive. Her sister would be furious but she has no power there.

His orders had been curt. _Exterminate the asset unless an intervention reveals itself_. The intervention was Stark. They were already treading on thin ice as it was. They didn't need another mess. But then again, why the bother to kill the organization's most expensive project yet when they could snatch it away again like the first time?

He suddenly sat ramrod straight, tensing. _It had heard him_. Fuck. Again, he decided to remind himself that the asset was not to be underestimated. If it had had its memories intact...his stomach would've been slashed open and his intestines splayed over the car seat by now. He had to leave. Turning on ignition, he spared the building one last glance and drove off, the van disappearing in the darkness.

 **A/N: Yay! Another chapter, though delivered late. Sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot lately. And overusing the word 'remember'. Hehe. Now, who are these new players? *rubs hands together* I have A LOT of plans for Peter. Again, sorry if this chapter was meh. It's pretty mediocre at best. Now, I don't know if a real doctor would do what Wyatt did but I'm no professional. I promise to upload as soon as I can. Lots of love 3 and plz, R & R!**


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